Voice of Experience
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Don't You Forget About Me tag: What do Sam and Dean know about the lives of teenage girls? Not much. But trauma, hunting, monsters, guilt, family? That they can talk about plenty.


**Voice of Experience**  
**K Hanna Korossy**

While Dean wrapped up the bodies, Sam crouched painfully in front of a battered Jody and the girls. No, in front of the _women_. Alex and Claire had already gone through far more than Sam and Dean at their age, and even as they talked about school and…birth control, those were old eyes staring back at Sam.

"Okay," he said quietly, "we need to get our stories straight."

It wouldn't be hard this time. They already had a culprit: Richard Beesome. Of course, the police would never know that Beesome had been a good man and it was the vampire inside him that had killed his family and attacked Jody and her girls. Or that the authorities' search for him would be in vain, the body soon to be just a pile of ashes. But it would explain Jody and Claire and Sam's injuries, and keep Jody out of hot water with her job. Beesome had kidnapped the three women, attacked Sam when he and "Agent Noon" came to the rescue, but managed to escape. Vampires didn't bleed a lot, so the blood on the scene would fit the story, and if they found the vampire teen, Henry's, blood there, too, well, he'd just be another victim of Beesome, one that would also never be found. It made sense.

When Dean gave him a thumbs-up about the bodies and Sam was sure everyone had their story down, he dialed 9-1-1.

They took Jody in immediately at the hospital, of course; she looked like she'd gone three rounds protecting her kids. Claire soon followed, and with a silent exchange of nods and raised eyebrows, Dean tagged along with her. There might still be some questions about the double punctures on her neck or her considerable blood loss.

Which left Sam, sitting with an ice pack against his jaw, arm across the back of Alex's waiting room chair while the teen curled into herself. Sam looked for something, anything, to say.

"This was my fault," Alex finally let him off the hook by mumbling, half to herself.

"What?" Sam frowned. "No, it's not."

Alex looked up at him. "Yes, it is. Beesome, he did all this because of me, because I baited him into getting turned."

Ah. He hadn't known that part, but it made sense. Sam dipped his head toward her. "Would you have done that if it'd been up to you?" he asked gently.

"No, of course not!" She sputtered to a halt. "But I still did it. And I could've said no."

"And been fed on yourself, or worse. That's not a choice, Alex."

She sniffed, truly looking like a kid now. "Tell that to Richard Beesome and his dead family."

Sam rubbed the edge of her shoulder with his fingertips, wanting to impart comfort but not overstep. He took a breath, and spread wide his soul. "You know…I've been possessed a couple of times. Influenced by ghosts, a supernatural addiction, once by a siren. I attacked, tried to kill, and actually killed more than one friend and a lot of innocents. And I've shot Dean—twice—and said some things to him that, well, should've been unforgivable. So, I get it. I know what it's like to live with the guilt of doing something terrible, even if you weren't in control."

Alex was watching him, her face clouded and pale, but listening.

Sam looked at her squarely. "And you know what? Dean, the people who loved me? They always forgave me. Always. Even when I was sure I didn't deserve it. Because they said it wasn't my fault, even if it felt like it. But…maybe even more so just because they love me. The real me, when it is just me. And that matters more than the times I wasn't calling the shots, you know?"

Alex's lip trembled a moment, but she bit down on it and nodded. Her body slowly unfurled enough to lean back against Sam's arm, and he let his arm curl around her. Forgiving her for something for which he didn't think she needed forgiveness, but she did, and so he gave it. As freely as it had been given him.

They stayed that way until Dean came out with a bandaged Claire, who immediately took Sam's place beside her adopted sister, and Sam was sent back to check on Jody and get his own injuries looked at.

00000

Dean felt like a head nurse. He'd escorted Jody to her bed and helped her get comfortable on piled pillows and pain meds. He made sure Alex was okay and that she was going to bed looking a little less raw—he had an idea Sammy had something to do with that—and that Sam was sacked out on his good side on the extra-long guest room bed Jody had _somehow_ acquired over the past few years, fresh ice packs against his bruised back and ribs. Claire followed Dean around like a lost puppy while he made sure her family was okay, and so Dean saved her for last, walking her to her room and standing there awkwardly while she sank down on the edge of the bed. She looked too tired to bother changing and he knew that feeling well, but the police had taken her clothes for evidence and the scrubs she'd gotten in their place didn't look all that comfortable.

"You need any help getting ready for bed?" he asked finally when it looked like she wasn't moving anytime soon.

She focused on him with effort; Dean felt a pang at how much that night had taken out of her. "Why?" she said with a wan, teasing smile. "You wanna help me?"

He didn't have to fake the shudder. "God, no. I'm old enough to be your dad"—and how depressing was that?—"I just…you know, can get you some water or-or pills or something."

"Relax, _Dad, _I'm okay. Just, kinda feel like I'm drunk, I'm so beat." Off his look, she made a face. "Not that I know how it feels to be drunk," she added unconvincingly.

"Riiight. So, you okay then?" Dean asked it more meaningfully this time.

And Claire got it, the way her expression sagged. "Not really? I mean, I knew there was a hunt, and I'm glad I killed that bastard. But what he did to Jody, the way he messed with Alex…" Her eyes almost looked watery, even if she'd slap herself before shedding a tear before him, Dean knew.

But…she was still a kid. Despite all she'd been through, all she'd done. A kid for whom hunting was all that made sense, and, man, could he understand that. Even when it shook him to see the toll it took on those he loved. Because he cared. Because she cared.

He eased himself down next to her, shoulders just brushing. "You know, I always had to hunt. As soon as I knew what was out there, it was in my blood, nothing else seemed important. But I quit once, for a year. You know why?"

Claire frowned at him, shaking her head, teen bravado completely gone.

"Because Sam died. Not just died, he went to _Hell_. And it was just me up here, and…I couldn't do it. Couldn't get to the son of a bitch that had done this to him, couldn't find a way to get him back, and so I just…quit. Went back to someone who cared enough about me to take my sorry ass in and make sure I didn't drown in a bottle. But the whole 'saving people, hunting things' deal I'd been sure about all my life? None of it mattered anymore with Sammy gone."

Claire slowly nodded, gaze returning to her hands, the bandages around her wrist. "So…"

"So…" Dean nodded. "I get it. Needing to hunt, I don't feel it the same way these days, but I've been there, okay? I know you can't just quit. But just…put your people first. What they need, when they need you. Because it doesn't mean crap without them, I promise you."

There were a couple of beats, then Claire took a deep breath. "Yeah, okay."

"Okay." Dean bumped her shoulder. "You're gonna be okay, Claire." He brightened. "And, hey, while you're healin' up, maybe you can finally watch—"

"_Caddyshack_, I know," she said with a grin, shoving back. "Fine. Just go away already so I can pass out."

He thumped her leg, figuring that was probably safe, and stood up. "You got your meds?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. So I'm just gonna—" With a curve of the lips, Claire made a move to pull her top off.

"Going," Dean quickly said and scrammed, shutting the door firmly behind him. He paused a moment, shook his head, then headed down the quiet hallway.

He had his own bed in the guest room, a nightstand away from Sam's. Dean eyed his brother up and down to make sure he was resting comfortably, then wearily tugged his Fed suit off and tossed it toward his duffel. He was working on his buttons when Sam half-rolled back toward him.

"Claire okay?"

"Good as she can be," Dean said, not really surprised. "You?"

"M'fine." Sam blinked hazily. "Think Alex's gonna be 'kay, too."

Dean chucked the button-down in the direction of the coat. "Yeah, I think you're right. Having someone in your corner makes all the difference."

"Someone who loves you," Sam said with surprising clarity considering the pile of pills Dean had made him take.

Dean's hands stilled with one shoe off, one on. "Yeah," he agreed quietly.

Sam gave him a soft smile, then rolled back and was soon asleep again.

It took Dean a while longer to follow him, but he was smiling a little, too.

**The End**


End file.
